By Lisa Timpf
On March 28, 2075, opening day for the Galactic Professional Baseball League, I had reason to be well satisfied with myself.
Intergalactic Sports Imports, the company I owned with my friend Ruby Trenholme, had just caught up on the delivery schedule for our first big contract: supplying game balls to everyone from the minors to the majors.
Now that we’d gotten through the hiccups of launching as a new supplier, it was on to the next challenge. “We need to land the hockey puck deal.” I spun in my chair.
Ruby grinned. “I’m sure your negotiating skills will be equal to the task.”
“I hope so.” I glanced at my watch. That deal could wait until tomorrow. Today I was ready to go home and celebrate by watching the Toronto versus Boston game, which had just started.
I said goodbye to Ruby, then hopped into my self-driving XR Towncar. As it negotiated Toronto’s gridlock, I checked Qwikmail and listened to throwback rock from the 2050s. A call interrupted my tranquility.
“Hey, Beth. Sorry to bother you, but—” Ruby paused. She didn’t sound happy.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a problem. I sent you a clip.”
I opened the file on my heads-up display. The clip showed action from the Jays–Red Sox game. The Boston batter hacked at a pitch and blooped the ball over the infielder’s head.
“Ruby, are you worried that they’ll claim something was wrong with our shipment? Nobody could blame that on the ball. It was an awkward swing.”
“Keep watching.”
The outfielder reached for the ball—and it jumped away. Then it accelerated toward the infield.
I gritted my teeth, fearing the worst. Sure enough, the camera zoomed in, showing the ball had sprouted legs.
“Rocklans!” I scowled at the screen. “But how did they get into our shipment?” Diminutive shape-shifters from Epsilon IV, Rocklans might look cute, but thanks to their accurate mimicry, they’re incredibly difficult to detect. Until they show their hand—or feet, in this case.
“Please tell me this is a one-off.” I leaned my head against the window.
Ruby sighed. “I wish I could.”
“We checked the incoming shipments. Everything looked good!” I hammered my fist on the dash, evoking a loud “tsk!” from the autocar’s AI.
“It could have happened while the balls were on their way to the clients. But who has it out for us?”
I grunted. “Take your pick.” The sports biz had plenty of competitors vying for market share.
After Ruby signed off, I replayed the clip, mind churning. Who had done this? Well, I knew a good place to start: my former partner and current competitor, Lucie Renforth.
The closer I got to Lucie’s office, the angrier I became. Ruby texting that a fan at Yankee Stadium had complained of being bitten by one of our balls did nothing to improve my mood.
Lucie, on the other hand, greeted me smooth as ever. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we had nothing to do with the Rocklans. I swear.”
My ex was good at a lot of things, but lying wasn’t one of them. Her usual “tell,” a nervous tic on the left side of her face, didn’t show. I sagged. “Then who?”
Lucie tapped some keys on her computer. “Have you checked whether the Rocklans filed for access passports?”
“Access passports?”
“Yeah. Unless you want the illegal importation of alien life forms added to your company’s list of misdemeanors. Remember the issues we had at the space yacht factory?”
I did remember. A dozen Rocklans had slipped into the plant by hitching a ride in the packaging. “Wait. Are you suggesting the Rocklans hijacked the baseball shipment themselves, rather than being planted there?”
“Possibly.”
“Why?”
She drummed her fingers on the desk. “What do you know about Rocklans?”
“Aside from them being adept at shapeshifting, not much. You led that investigation.”
“I suggest you do your homework.” Lucie checked her watch. “I have a meeting. You can see yourself out.”
I instructed my vehicle to head back to the office. Enroute, I researched Rocklans. Much as it galled me to accept Lucie’s advice, she had an annoying habit of being right.
Back at my desk, I pulled up the video.
Ruby grimaced. “How many times are you going to watch that?”
“There’s something odd about the Rocklan’s behavior. Look.” I paused the video. “Why is it heading back toward the infield?”
“Maybe it doesn’t want the outfielder to catch it.”
I shook my head. “From what I’ve read about them, Rocklans love to fly; always have. Fossil evidence on their home planet suggests they once had wings, but evolved out of them to escape aerial predators.”
Ruby snapped her fingers. “If they love to fly—”
“Yeah.” I jumped up and headed for the door. “We might be able to salvage this after all.”
It took several phone calls and a meeting with a room full of jabbering baseballs, but we did deal with the Rocklans’ curve ball. The absence of legal issues may have helped—the fan who claimed a Rocklan had attacked him dropped the lawsuit after a private investigator proved his bites were inflicted by a teething puppy.
The win-win I hammered out for the Rocklans and Intergalactic Sports Imports was that our company would serve as a liaison, connecting Rocklans with teams across the galaxy—for a fee, of course. Not that the Rocklans are used as game balls—interesting, but far too chaotic—but for batting practice.
For the Rocklans, it’s like a day at the amusement park. And for the players, no more retrieving balls. If a Rocklan is lucky enough to be given the ultimate ride, a home run, its gleeful squeals echo through the park, much to the delight of the fans who’ve started flocking to batting practice.
In return for our help, the Rocklans have agreed not to mess with our business ventures. I still double-check my shipments anyway. Once bitten, twice shy…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I love a good baseball ⚾ story with alien baseballs! It would definitely keep Spring Training interesting!
still laughing…great yarn!
Haha this was a great read! The MC is definitely good at finding business opportunities. XD Thanks for the laugh!
Ha, really liked this! Kept me reading to find out what was going on, and it was delightful.